


the dark hills i would have to cross to reach you

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, and river just happens to be in a computer, i mean we all knew i was going to fic it right??, in which the doctor is psychically linked to his sonic sunglasses, spoilers for 10x06 Extremis, the moff has truly blessed us, what's a long distance couple to do but email?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 08:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10963635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: He might have been bitter if it hadn’t taken him all of five minutes after escaping the virtual clutches of a very ugly monk to realize that while he may not be able to see, his psychically wired sunglasses can access any data from anywhere. If there’s one benefit to being blind and having his wife inside a data core, it’s that communicating just got a hell of a lot easier.





	the dark hills i would have to cross to reach you

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the line in Extremis: “There’s always one thing you can do from inside a computer. You can always email.”
> 
> Story title from Words, Wide Night by Carol Ann Duffy.

_I can’t believe you gave Nardole permission to kick my arse._

 

Admittedly, he’d thought the game was up after he lost his sight. The Doctor is a man who relies on all of his faculties to get him out of his numerous scrapes and without it, it feels a bit like counting down to his own end. One day, he won’t be quite so lucky. He won’t have Nardole there to tell him what he should be seeing; he won’t be able to steal from his future or rely on lovingly penned words in a diary.

 

He might have been bitter if it hadn’t taken him all of five minutes after escaping the virtual clutches of a very ugly monk to realize that while he may not be able to see, his psychically wired sunglasses can access any data from anywhere. If there’s one benefit to being blind and having his wife inside a data core, it’s that communicating just got a hell of a lot easier.

 

The Doctor sits at the desk in his office, staring sightlessly at the place where he knows he keeps River’s picture, and refuses to give into the urge to fidget or pace or put down the glasses and run away. It might not work. It might take a while for her to even get it. Maybe she doesn’t even want to talk to him. Maybe this will only make losing her hurt more than it already does. Maybe he shouldn’t have –

 

_I advised him to be careful. Your arse is far too pretty to damage._

 

Elation floods him and as his worries fade, the Doctor doesn’t bother trying to hide the wide, aching grin that splits his face. There’s no one around to see it. Not even himself. “I hardly need a babysitter,” he gripes aloud, watching the words appear on the inside of his sunglass lenses. “But I might occasionally need an arse-kicking. Thank you, dear.”

 

_Anything for my Doctor… Is it really you, my love?_

 

He sighs shakily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Course it’s me,” he mutters, grateful that at least an email won’t betray the dangerous wobble in his gruff voice. “Who else would it be? Got another husband you’re exchanging emails with in there?”

 

_Jealousy doesn’t become you, Doctor._

 

He smiles wearily into the dark. “Thought you liked that about me.”

 

_Only when I’m there to see you pout._

 

“I don’t pout.”

 

_You’re doing it right now, aren’t you?_

 

The Doctor drops his crossed arms and struggles to stop scowling. “Bloody show off,” he says, but definitely doesn’t send. Before he can reply to her with something suitably _not pouting_ , River sends another message.

 

_I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. I know how you prefer to move on, sweetie._

 

There’s a lump forming in his throat now. He can hardly breathe around it. “Not from you.”

 

_Well I am difficult to forget ;)_

 

“You have no idea.”

 

The Doctor reaches out a hand, searching blindly for the photograph on his desk. His hand knocks against it and nearly sends it flying but he steadies the frame and strokes his fingertips along her face. He’s done it often enough in the past that he doesn’t really need to see the path anymore – he knows the apple of her cheek and the outline of her jaw by hearts.

 

“Miss you.” He swallows tightly. “So much.”

 

_You’d better._

 

He chokes on a bout of laughter, his eyes stinging.

 

_What’s wrong, darling?_

 

Of course she knows. River always knows. Even dead and locked away in a library, she still has her ways of looking after him. “Nothing,” he says, and focuses on sending her a series of ridiculous emojis sure to exasperate her. “Just recovering from Nardole’s arse-kicking.”

 

He doesn’t know how but somehow, he’s certain he can hear her laughter from galaxies and worlds away.

 

-

 

_You’re not traveling alone, are you?_

_Surely you haven’t forgotten poor Nardole already?_

_Nardole is hardly your usual sort, darling._

_Oh and what is my usual sort, River Song?_

_Young. Female. Short skirt. Wide-eyed naiveté. Daddy issues._

_Ouch._

_The truth tends to sting, my love. Now tell me you’ve found someone._

_To relieve your mind, my dear, I met a girl called Bill but I’m afraid she doesn’t meet all your blatantly slanderous criteria. Young and female. Wide-eyed and curious, certainly. But I’m afraid she prefers trousers. And women._

_You mean this one doesn’t think the sun, moon, and stars shine out of your arse?_

_First of all, leave my arse out of this. And second of all, afraid not. Calls me her granddad._

_My, my. Finally a companion with decent eyesight._

_Oi!_

 

-

 

Sometimes, he sends her pictures. He doesn’t always know what he’s taking a picture of but Nardole is usually around to redirect him if he’s about to send River a snapshot of a wall or the back of someone’s head. He sends her sunsets and photos of his office and shoes in Parisian boutiques he feels certain she’d want to nick.

 

Once, Nardole steals his glasses and uses them to snap a picture of the Doctor scowling at him. Before he can stop his ridiculous wife-approved companion, he sends the picture to River and hands the glasses back with an unapologetic grin.

 

“The Missus might like a new photograph of you. Though really, you could have smiled. She might change her mind about missing you when she sees that one.”

 

The Doctor snatches back his glasses and grumbles, “Don’t even know why I miss her. I gave her twenty-four years and she gave me _you_.”

 

In return for his pictures, River sends him paragraphs relating the description of the place where he’d left her. She tells him of the adventures she takes with Charlotte and the others; of the days when Vastra invites her for tea; of their home on Darillium she’d recreated in the data core. _Everything is the same, darling. All that’s missing is you._

 

She does her best to remain upbeat when she talks of where she is, clearly wanting him to believe that she’s happy but the Doctor reads the wistful longing in every single word and knows that she’s resigned to her fate but hardly content. He never mentions that he doesn’t believe her, just sends her more snapshots of his travels and hopes she understands.

 

All that’s missing from him is her.

 

-

 

_Don’t suppose you know what happened to my favorite pants, do you?_

_The ones with the question marks all over them?_

_The very ones._

_I haven’t the faintest idea. Sorry._

_You reek of deception, wife._

_I don’t know what you’re talking about._

_Like hell you don’t. Where did you hide my pants, River?_

_I didn’t hide them, if you must know. I just put them where they belonged._

_Oh. Good. Where?_

_A black hole at the end of the universe._

 

-

 

It takes him weeks to finally confess the truth – that he can’t see and fears he never will again. River responds to the news with her usual unflappability, catching him entirely by surprise. He doesn’t know why. He should know by now River is always one step (or twenty) ahead.

 

_Oh my love. I wondered when you were going to tell me._

 

The Doctor blinks, turning his face toward the sunlight he feels streaming in through his office windows. “You knew?”

 

_I have every book ever written at my disposal. Do you really think no one ever wrote about the time the Doctor lost his sight?_

 

He huffs to himself but there’s no denying the relief that overwhelms him. River has always been the one person he tells everything to and keeping something of this magnitude from her has been bordering on agony. “I finally feel my age.” It takes everything to confess the next words out loud, to send them to River and let her read them. “I feel human. Breakable. Like a companion.”

 

_I doubt any of your companions would appreciate the comparison, my love._

 

“I’m serious, River.” He scrubs a hand through his hair and immediately regrets it. Looking into a mirror to smooth it down is hardly an option any longer. “How am I supposed to take care of Bill and Nardole when I can barely look after myself?”

 

_Nardole and Bill are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves._

 

He snorts. “You didn’t see them at Tequila Karaoke Night last week.”

 

River doesn’t let him distract her. _Neither did you._

"Rude _."_

 

_Let them help you, sweetie. You can’t do this alone. You never could._

 

The Doctor bites his lip, considering his next message carefully. “I thought about regenerating to get my sight back but I can’t be sure it will work.”

_Don’t you dare hurt yourself._ Fury laces her every word and he almost smiles, hearing her livid voice in his head. _I swear to every god in the universe, Doctor, I will find my way out of this computer just to kill you again myself._

 

“Is that supposed to be a discouragement?” The Doctor slumps back in his chair, his lips twitching into a soft smile despite himself. “You needn’t worry, dear. Being blind is a small price to pay to have you again.”

 

_Sentimental idiot._

 

-

 

Once he reveals that he’s communicating through his sunglasses – which he happens to rarely remove – River has a hard time behaving herself. The utterly shameless woman delights in sending him naughty messages at the worst possible times.

 

 _I’m not wearing any knickers_ when he’s trying to save a planet from invading Cybermen.

 

_I like that undone noise you make when I wrap my hand around your cock_

 

and

 

_Remember when you brought home that bottle of aphrodisia for our anniversary? Oh my love, it wasn’t only the Towers singing that night._

 

and

 

 _I miss your fingers between my thighs_ when he’s right in the middle of a bloody lecture.

 

Trying to pilot the TARDIS while she tells him exactly what she’d do to him if she were there right that second; how much she’d enjoy not needing to blindfold him; how she’d make him forget he couldn’t see by wrapping her tongue around him until stars exploded behind his eyes.

 

Standing across from him at the console, Bill watches him clear his throat and tug at his collar. When his cheeks begin to grow warm with every thoroughly filthy description from River, she asks with suspicion lacing her voice, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

 

“Fine,” he says hoarsely, and snatches the glasses off his face.

 

-

 

The ship is five minutes from exploding around himself, Nardole, Bill, and about two hundred civilians but River still finds the time to insult his driving. _You’re flying it wrong._

 

Clinging to the console and navigating the controls with one hand, the Doctor snaps, “Hush.”

 

_At least use the stabilizers._

 

“I know what I’m doing,” he shouts, guiltily fumbling around until he feels the stabilizer control beneath his fingertips. He slams his hand down on the button and hears sighs of relief around him as the ship quiets. Wonderful, they’re still going to be blown to bits in four minutes but at least it’ll be a smooth ride until then.

 

_Since when?_

 

“Since always,” he grumbles, fishing in his pocket for his sonic. “Now stop being cheeky. I’m a bit busy, dear.”

 

A hesitant, familiar hand wraps around his wrist. It’s Bill, guiding him to the sonic screwdriver in his inner chest pocket. “Doctor,” she ventures, as if he’s terribly fragile and old and must be handled with utmost delicacy. “Who are you talking to?”

 

Nardole snorts and the Doctor turns his head, glaring in his general direction. “Oh don’t mind him. He’s just having a row with the Missus while we’re in mortal peril.”

 

“Hardly mortal peril,” the Doctor chides. “Peril maybe but mortal? Feeling a wee bit dramatic today, Nardole?”

 

Nardole sniffs. “I did miss breakfast.”

 

“Belgium waffles after this,” the Doctor promises. “In Belgium.”

 

“Sorry, hang on-” Bill’s grip around his wrist tightens, her voice strangled with equal parts shock and delight. “You’re married? Oh my god, have I got a grandmum?”

 

The Doctor winces. “Don’t ever let her hear you call her that.”

 

_Call me what?_

 

Cursing under his breath, the Doctor snaps, “Didn’t Amy ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”

 

_Of course not. Scottish, remember?_

 

Stifling a snort of laughter, the Doctor turns back to the controls and lightly touches his fingertips to a set of switches, trying to determine what they’re for by sense of touch alone. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me how we get out of this one?”

 

_Afraid not._

 

He arches an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you don’t know?”

 

 _Oh I know_ , comes her smug reply. _I have every book ever written at my disposal, including every account of your adventures. In fact I just read this one to Charlotte last night._

 

The Doctor makes an impatient noise. “And?”

 

 _Spoilers_.

 

He growls through his teeth, flicking on his sonic. “I hate you.”

 

 _No, you don’t_.

 

-

 

_Did I tell you I took Bill to the Frost Fair in 1814?_

_You nostalgic idiot. You shouldn’t have done that._

_I didn’t even mean to, not really. I think the Old Girl was missing you._

_Well I_ am _the only one who really knows how to fly her._

_You don’t fly the TARDIS. You negotiate with her._

_Those who can, do. Those who can’t, negotiate._

_Very funny._

_Only teasing, darling. How was the Fair? Did you bump into our past selves?_

_I saw the back of your head through the crowd once. And I’m almost certain I heard a piano but I didn’t investigate. Thought it might be best to avoid temptation._

_Temptation?_

_To deck Bowtie and steal you away._

_My silly old mad man. Don’t you know by now that you can’t steal what’s already yours?_

-

 

Sprawled across Missy’s piano bench with a carton of stir-fried chicken, the Doctor wields his chopsticks with expert ease. It’s been months now of being unable to see and he’s slowly beginning to adjust. His other senses have grown sharper and heightened. He stops bumping into things and learns to navigate the halls of the university, the controls of his TARDIS, the vast universe itself, with blind but confident steps.

 

Around a mouthful of rice, he asks, “How’s life in the vault?”

 

“Oh peachy keen.” Missy hums and he pictures her peering into her own carton of lo mein, listening to the sound of her rooting around her remaining food for another piece of shrimp. “How’s life with the dead wifey?”

 

Before the emails, he might have flinched. Instead he grins in the direction of his oldest friend and pops a slice of pepper into his mouth. “She’s teaching me how to sext.”

 

Missy sniffs. “Well I suppose it was only a matter of time before your list of sins got round to necrophilia.”

 

Before he can reply or further torment her – something about Missy’s presence brings out the schoolboy in him – a message from River flashes across his lenses. _Remember that night on Darillium when it was so hot we took our kit off and slept under the stars? Well, I say slept…_ _You looked so dashing in the starlight._

 

The Doctor feels his lips curl in a broad grin. River’s sweat damp skin pressed to his, her fuzzy curls tangled around his fingers, and her smile gleaming in the dark… He definitely remembers.

 

“Oh, honestly.” He pictures Missy’s wrinkled nose and thoroughly scarred expression with glee. “I’m glad you can’t see your own face. It’s embarrassing. Have some dignity, man.”

 

The Doctor helps himself to another egg roll, propping his booted feet up on the piano keys just to annoy her. “You’re just miffed no one is texting you from beyond the grave.”

 

She doesn’t deign to respond to that but he can feel the heat of her glare against the side of his face. “Are you ever going to stop messing about and rescue your missus or do you secretly like having her in a little cage?”

 

His jovial mood fades in an instant. He looks away, dropping his chopsticks into the empty carton in front of him. “I can’t get her out, Missy.”

 

She snorts and he can almost see the disbelieving eyebrow she raises toward him. “Have you tried? Or have you just laid about feeling sorry for yourself?”

 

He frowns. “I can do both. I’m a multi-tasker.”

 

Missy sighs and he hears her dainty boots tapping against the floor in a slightly manic rhythm. “How long now?”

 

“950.”

 

“Ah. Well. Drop in the bucket, really.”

 

He grunts and fiddles with his chopsticks, composing a reply to River in his head until the sound of Missy’s voice distracts him mid-sentence.

 

“When this is over,” she ventures, almost hesitant. Entirely unlike Missy. The Doctor is instantly alert. “I could help. Possibly. If I’m still feeling generous.”

 

“There isn’t a way to -” He stops, gazing blankly in her direction with his mouth gaping open. “Hang on, you’d – you’d actually help me get her back?”

 

Missy sighs, like he’s being thick. “Friends, remember?”

 

-

 

_Are you ever going to tell me what’s wrong?_

_Who said anything’s wrong?_

_Do you really think I don’t know you well enough by now? I always know. Something is bothering you._

_It’s nothing. Just the usual feeling of impending doom._

_You disappoint me, Doctor. I thought you were through lying to me._

_It’s not a lie, River._

_But it isn’t the whole truth, is it?_

_Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder what it might be like to have a wife who isn’t such a sodding know-it-all._

_And?_

_Dull._

_Then stop pouting and tell me what’s going on._

_I don’t pout. And don’t any of those precious books of yours have this story?_

_If you don’t start talking, Doctor, I’m going to get Nardole to kick your arse again._

_Oh fine. Have it your way. A thing happened – several things, actually – and now I’m guarding a box. For a thousand years. Long story._

_I’ve got time._

_When I’m through, I’ll tell you in person._

_Is that a promise, darling?_

_It’s a damn guarantee._

_Well then, I’ll wait up xx_


End file.
